Page:The Literary Magnet 1824 vol 2.djvu/193

 Wido was of opinionof the opinion [sic], the bag-piper was no other than the famous Spirit of the Silesian Mountains. The young painter met him once when he travelled through the hills, and acquired (he never knew how) his favour. He promised the youth to assist him in his love-suit, and he kept his word, although after his own jesting fashion.

Wido remained all his life-time a favourite with the Spirit of the Mountains. He grew rich, and became celebrated. His dear Emma brought him every year a handsome child, his pictures were sought after even in Italy and England; and the Dance of the Dead, of which Basil, Antwerp, Dresden, Lubeck, and many other places boast, are only copies or imitations of Wido’s original painting, which he had executed in memory of the real Dance of the Dead at Neisse! But, alas! this picture is lost, and no collector of paintings has yet been able to discover it, for the gratification of the conoscenti, and the benefit of the history of the art.



A without a summer sky, But a dusky pall of clouds instead, Hung over blossoms that childless die, And under the vaulted branches lie, Leaving no rosy progeny, For ripe fruits weeping above their bed.

A festival wanting one festive cheek, To smile in the light of a thousand lamps, That now but quench the pale hectic streak, Which oft, upon visages that speak Of inward anguish, flitting and weak, Burns like the night-breath of putrid swamps.

These are things full of grief and gloom, But oh! they are bliss to the thoughts that rack His heart, who hath fed, through a wintry doom, On the hope that pleasure might once more bloom, Might one day his eye with delight relume, And has found nor flowers nor beams come back! G. N.